


Broken

by CaptainTarthister



Series: Kingslayers [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Manager!Brienne, Explicit Language, F/M, Lead Singer!Jaime, Masturbation, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8421697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: Jaime Lannister is lead singer of the successful rock band Kingsguard. After the death of his sister Cersei, Jaime's destructive behavior begins to affect the band and they threaten to fire him. Brienne is the manager and she struggles with her faith in Jaime and keeping the band together.





	1. Battle Lines

This was bad. Seven-Hells-Unleashed-White-Walkers-Come-Back-to-Life-Dragons-and-Ice-Spiders-bad. Brienne looked away from the furious faces of the four men glowering at her as they stood surrounding her desk to take a sip of water. It looked like she was gathering her thoughts. Partly. It was more of a delaying tactic because she fucking didn’t know what to do.

Bands had volatile members and even more volatile relationships. Such groups came together bound by idealism and a pure love for the music, which then led to deep friendships. Fame, however, had a way of destroying what they had worked so hard on. Lots of things sprang from fame. A member was more popular than the others, often the singer, and given more opportunities. There was also the problem of record companies dictating their sound, which tend to lead to lawsuits that dragged for a long time. Drugs, women,men, and being constantly on the road took their toll too. 

Kingsguard seemed to be above that. When Brienne first discovered them, she had been drawn to their sound, a harsh yet melodious metal that drew blood from the ears and made the heart beat so fast as if it was racing towards death. It was a sound that gave the finger to the Stranger, proudly.

Kingsguard’s front man was Jaime 'Kingslayer' Lannister, with angel-blond hair kept long to his shoulders, bright emerald eyes and elegant, chiseled features that looked perfect whether he was onstage wearing only his sweaty abs and fitted, ripped jeans or at an awards show in tailored tux. He also played lead guitar. Rhythm guitar and backing vocals was Sandor Clegane, the exact opposite of Jaime in looks with his harsh, cruel-looking features and oft-unkempt iron-black hair. He looked absolutely terrifying in a leather vest and pants and the most flattering description of him in a suit was that he looked like an undertaker. Stannis Baratheon was the bassist and also did backing vocals. He had a grim face—one journalist joked that he looked like his entire family had been wiped out in the most horrible and he just found out he had cancer in one day. He was already balding at thirty-seven, and looked to be ten years older. Their drummer was Loras Tyrell, more pretty than handsome with his dark blond curls and lopsided, teasing grin that was said to melt the knickers off women. Rhaegar Targaryen, who played the keyboards, rounded up the group. He was said to be as good-looking as Jaime, while some believed him to be more handsome. His hair was a rich, pale blond that he wore past his shoulders, and his purple eyes were big and soulful. 

Kingsguard was the biggest rock band of the decade and Brienne was determined to keep it that way. She had been babysitting these assholes early on but the problem they had come to her for was something she couldn’t fix. It made her want to throw things. Nothing was impossible with Brienne Tarth but the problem of Jaime Lannister was making her question that. It had been going on for a while. 

“He’s been slacking off practice and getting high for days,” Sandor growled, planting his huge fists on the desks and glaring at her accusingly with his pale gray eyes. “We’re recording an album in three months and that fucking twat has not turned in any material.” They all wrote songs and each was expected to contribute. It was their way of holding off the record moguls from touching their sound. 

“He tells us he’s sick but this is what he’s been doing.” Often calm, with a Zen-like demeanor, Rhaegar slammed down on the desk a folded newspaper and jammed his finger on the headline. Brienne winced as she read it: `Kingslayer Bows Before Vodka’ was plastered on the front page along with a photo of Jaime passed out in front of a bar. 

“I’m not saying the twat has no right to get wasted,” Sandor continued, “but if he keeps this up, we’re kicking him out.”

Brienne paled. “Y-You can’t be serious.” Her blue eyes were big pools of disbelief and shock as she stared at each of them. They all looked at her right in the eye without blinking. “You can’t be fucking serious!”

“Brienne, this has been going on for a year. Look, we understand that it was an awful way to lose his sister like that but come on,” Loras said. “The gods curse me because you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but Cersei Lannister was an evil bitch and she was so demanding of Jaime. There,” he told the rest of the band, puffing up his chest as if in challege. He was the shortest in the group. “I said it. Cersei’s a bitch and I’m glad she’s dead.”

Brienne silently agreed. Cersei was Jaime’s twin sister. She was beautiful in a way that made the heart ache, and cruel in such that she crushed the spirit. Brother and sister were close but she was. . .a little too possessive. She sneered at groupies who approached Jaime, cut down any woman who showed even the slightest interest. She and Brienne had had shouting matches as well. Cersei was convinced that Brienne was going to steal Jaime away from her. Brienne didn’t know where she got that idea—she was six-foot-three, muscular, with hardly any tits to speak off, a boyish waist, freckles all over, and a nose that had been broken twice. Hardly the kind of woman Jaime would look at. And definitely had never had any interest in Jaime except professionally. Yet Cersei considered her a threat and once threatened to kill herself if the band didn’t fire Brienne. Jaime defended Brienne, the one and only time he went against his sister.

Brienne had no love for Cersei Lannister but that car accident was not the way she should have gone. It was too quick yet still cruel.

“I disagree about kicking Jaime from the band,” Stannis spoke up. “But Brienne, you have to understand. We’re becoming a joke because of him. He’s late for shows, he’s surly and rude. He’s getting drunk and high all night. I don’t care what the man does in his own time as long as it doesn’t affect time for the band.”

“He’s right,” Rhaegar said. “We’ve worked too hard to lose what we have.”

Again, Brienne agreed. But seriously? They wanted to kick Jaime out?

“I understand your sentiment—“ she began.

“Oh, fuck sentiment!” Sandor howled. Stannis elbowed him in the ribs. “Will you shut up and fucking listen? Go on, Brienne.”

“But people have a different way of mourning. You can’t kick this guy when he’s already down. And may I remind you that Jaime Lannister is the very reason we’re all in this room, living where we live, having what we have. He put up the band and discovered each of you. You know if you were in his shoes he wouldn’t be here, telling me this. . .deplorable thing about kicking him out. Maybe instead of uniting in your. . .impatience and frustration, you should be at his side helping him.”

“He’s not answering our calls or messages” Loras pointed out. “No, Brienne. You’re the only one he’ll listen to.”

Brienne shook her head. “I don’t know him like you do. You’re his best friends! I’m. . .I’m your manager.”

“Oh?” Sandor crossed his arms. “Are you saying you’re no friend of ours, eh? What are we, money pots for you, then?”

Blushing, she protested, ‘I didn’t mean it like that—“

“Sure sounded like it.”

“Definitely.” Rhaegar agreed, his purple gaze sharp. 

“What I _meant_ to say,” Brienne snarled, “is that I don’t have the kind of friendship with him that you have. For crying out loud, you all went to college together. You were fucking roommates!” She pointed at Rhaegar. To Sandor, she added, “He paid for your rehab!” Glaring at Stannis, she went on, “He introduced you to your wife! And you—“ she told Loras—“who gave you a place to live when your family cast you out because you’re gay?” 

“Shame on all of you,” she yelled at them as she stood up. In her heels she was taller than Sandor, who was six-foot-six, “for coming here, to _my_ office, telling _me_ that you intend to stab Jaime in the back, your friend, your friend who has fought and helped _each of you,_ and then demanding that I _do your fucking dirty work!_ _Fucking blockheads, the lot of you!”_

Brienne was so furious at the conspiracy they wanted her to be a part of, of the betrayal they had been planning. There was a bitter taste at the back of her throat threatening to choke her.

The men had shrunk bank during her outburst. They looked at each other before turning back to her. Brienne was still red-faced and fuming, her fists clenched to her sides. Betrayal. It was disgusting. It so went against her principles yet here they were, the band she admired, asking her to destroy them. Jaime Lannister was infuriating and his actions of late, she had to admit, were of no excuse, but neither was their decision. How could they easily forget that it was Jaime’s songs that won them awards, that he was the emotional centre of their group? And they dared to call themselves his friends?

“So, uh, Brienne,” Sandor said, clearing his throat. “What do you think we should do?” 

 

Jaime lived in a five-thousand-square-foot penthouse. The doorman greeted Brienne as she nodded at him. She got on the elevator reserved only for the use of Jaime and his guests fortunate enough to have the pass code. After punching in the four-digit code, the doors opened. It was a quick, smooth ride, with the elevator opening right at the penthouse.

Brienne was wearing only a light, pale blue sweater because the weather was warm but with cool winds. The temperature in Jaime’s place was arctic. Her nipples tightened painfully and she crossed her arms, looking around.

The interior was designed to reflect tastes and sensibilities that were not Jaime’s. Cersei’s? Brienne wondered. She had been here many times and yet this knowledge, nor her familiarity, gave any comfort. The dark, wooden divisions that reminded her of lion claws seemed ready to gouge at anyone walking close enough. The carpet that hushed her footsteps was the bright crimson of blood. It was sunny outside yet here was dark and forbidding, unwelcoming.

“Jaime?” She called out, still hugging herself. She had given him a heads up of her visit and, as the guys had said, he took her call. She kept walking and looking around, peering inside rooms. She knew this place like the back of her hand.

When it was clear he was not in any of the rooms, she took a deep breath and knocked on the red-lacquered double doors leading to the master suite. She listened for a bit then pushed them open.

Sprawled with abandon in the middle of the bed was Jaime. 

_Naked._

Brienne gasped and quickly averted her eyes, swaying on her feet. As she righted herself, her hand brushed on a wine bottle on the table and it fell, crashing into pieces on the floor. “Fuck!” She whispered, looking frantically at Jaime who was stirring and smacking his lips. As she turned to get out, her hip hit another table. A pained yelp escaped her as she doubled over and tripped on more bottles on the floor. 

“Brienne?” A confused-sounding Jaime demanded. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Her cheeks the colour of beets, she whirled around and shut her eyes. “Jaime, for the love of the Seven, will you put some clothes on!”

“Oh, please. It’s nothing like you haven’t seen before,” he drawled.

“Jaime!”

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, and she imagined him rolling his eyes to the ceiling and shaking his head. Her eyes still closed, she listened to him shuffle, the bed squeaking as he left hopefully to cover up. He was taking too long. Hand over her closed eyes, she demanded, “Are you decent?”

“Well, I’m covered but I don’t know about being decent.” There was a brittle edge to his voice. She opened her eyes and turned to him again. He had put on a robe—a cheesy, dark red thing with black piping. He was clearly hungover because he was struggling to remain on his feet and his stare was bleary and unfocused. He sighed and sat down at the foot of the bed. As he did, the robe parted and Brienne once again had to turn away. 

“Jaime, if you could shut your legs, please.”

“Gods, what is this—the mighty Brienne of Tarth is a prude!” Jaime exclaimed. “You’ve seen cocks before, Brienne.” But as she turned to glare at him, he crossed his legs. “There? Better?”

Brienne gestured at the bottles on the floor. “Did you empty your wine cellar?”

“I tried.”

“That’s not wise, Jaime.”

“Funny you should say that. My brother Tyrion has always subscribed to the belief that drinking brings knowledge.” He looked at her in a way that had her arms wrapping around her chest. “You could use a drink or two.”

“Be serious. I’m here to talk to you about the band.” 

Jaime looked bored. “What do those cunts want now?”

“Those cunts are your friends and they’re concerned about. . .” she stared at the bottles then at him. “Your behavior.”

“My behavior.”

“You’re due at the recording studio in three months and you haven’t given them anything. Are you going to write something or not?”

“Are you asking as my manager or as my friend?”

Brienne put her hands on her hips. “They’re worried, Jaime. Getting smashed and high aren’t exactly productive.”

“No,” he agreed. “But then I don’t hit the bottle because I exactly want to get anything worthwhile accomplished.” 

“Then why?”

“Why?”

“Yes. Why?”

“If I’m able to answer that, what will you do? Haul my fucking ass to AA? Lecture me like you’re doing now?” 

“Whatever it takes to get you back on your feet.”

“And writing and recording and singing. Fuck that. I don’t care anymore.”

“Jaime—“

This time, he leered at her. Brienne would throw one of the bottles at him if she were at the breaking point of her temper. She knew he was trying to intimidate her. So she stared back at him, disappointment all over her face.

“Jaime,” she tried again. But he shook his head.

“I’m not in the mood for lectures or anything that has to do with the band. I would rather be left alone if you’re not going to lose that nice sweater and kiss me and fuck me.”

“You’re drunk,” she told him. “And you sound like an idiot.”

Jaime’s smile was mean. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time. Get out of here, Tarth.”

There was no reaching him. So she gave it to him straight.

“The band saw me and told me they want to fire you. They want me to do it and I told them to go fuck themselves. I’m here because I believe in you, Jaime. At least, I did until a few seconds ago. I came here to talk to you, help you if you’ll let me. Since that’s not going to happen, I’m leaving. I can’t watch you destroy yourself. It's too painful.”

Jaime went back to bed. “Fine. Go. That’s what everyone does, anyway.”

Brienne watched him curl on his side and draw the blanket over his head. Then she turned on her heel.

As she grasped the doorknob, Jaime spoke.

“No one's getting rid of me. I quit.”


	2. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What has gotten your panties in a twist that you look like you want to murder me?”
> 
> “I don’t know, Jaime!” She growled as she drove. “Maybe it’s because I’ve never been able to sleep well since you called me to pick you up from the station. Maybe it’s because I worry that the next call I’ll get is from a hospital or worse, a morgue. Maybe it’s because I seriously fucking don’t know what to do about you.”
> 
> “How sweet. You dream of me, yes?”

One year later

 

Jaime blinked as the too-bright camera flash lasered right into his eyes. He rubbed his eyes as he was led away towards the jail cell. No handcuffs bound him anymore since he had become a frequent visitor of police stations within a hundred-mile radius of his house. He still had to be fingerprinted and photographed but the police officers were friendly and even offered him a cup of coffee before subjecting him to boring, tedious process.

“Why are you on duty tonight?” Jaime asked the officer guiding him. He was an awkward, fat guy with cow-like dark eyes. His badge read Tarly. “Isn’t it your wife’s birthday?”

“I took Gilly out to lunch earlier,” Samwell Tarly replied as he opened the steel door. “She understands. We’ll celebrate this weekend.”

“You should take her to The Silver Stag,” Jaime said as he entered the cell and stepped away for Samwell to lock him in. “She seems a special girl.”

Sam blushed. “She is. I’d like to but you have to reserve for months in advance.”

Jaime waved his hand, the motion loose. “Allow me to make the call. They always have a table for me.”

Sam looked flabbergasted. “Really? That’s really nice of you, Mr. Lannister.” He smiled hugely. “Wow. If you could, please. That’s—Gilly would love it. Thank you.”

Jaime lowered himself gingerly on the bench. His steps were wobbly but his mind was still quite clear despite the breathalyzer indicating his alcohol level was well over the limit. “As soon as my rescuer picks me up, I’ll call them.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lannister. I’ll look out for your lady friend.” Sam blushed suddenly. “I mean, she’s always coming for you.”

“She’s a loyal employee, nothing more.”

Sam waved goodbye and Jaime leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. 

It would be a year since he told Brienne he was quitting Kingsguard before they could kick him out. He regretted the decision shortly but he stood by his word. Kingsguard was his life but there was nothing he could give to the band anymore. There was nothing to sing about, nor write about. Even his voice was off though Brienne told him it was because he smoked and drank too much. 

The media ate up Jaime’s desertion of the band. They weren’t too far off when they speculated that his erratic behavior led him to leave the group, but they were wrong in saying that he was forced to leave. Nobody forced Jaime Lannister to do anything. Unfortunately, that was the general consensus and he was too tired and too angry with the way things were to issue a statement in his defense. 

It was his decision to leave the band, a decision he thought would please everyone. Instead, it brought down on him such savage wrath from everyone. His father, Tywin, who never approved of his golden boy quitting school to scream onstage, declared that he had wasted the last twelve years of his life. Tyrion thought he was an idiot to still mourn over their bitchy sister and sacrifice his career, “The only thing in this world you loved aside from Cersei,” he told Jaime mockingly. 

Sandor, Rhaegar, Stannis and Loras never spoke to him but they made their displeasure known. They called Jaime an ingrate, a self-centered asshole who made a selfish decision without even consulting them. That was funny considering they wanted to kick him out. They should be thanking him for sparing them the effort. An article wrote about the feud and titled it, “The Clash of Kings.”

Jaime continued drinking and getting high. Hardly a week passed when he wasn’t pulled over and the cuffs slapped on him. His lawyer Catelyn Stark used to bail him out but he got tired of her lecturing him that if he continued with this, he was going to spend some hard time in prison or worse, actually end up hurting somebody. That’s how people talked to him these days. They either told him he was garbage or shit.

Except Brienne.

During a particularly bad night, he had blurted out her name and digits when the police officer asked for who to call for his bail. Jaime had not seen her since the day she walked in on him in his birthday suit. He blamed it on the flashing red and blue lights of the sirens that reminded him of her eyes and her freckles. He must have passed out because when he came to, the jail cell was being opened and he was gruffly told that Ms. Tarth had paid for his release and was waiting for him.

That first time she came for him, she looked mighty pissed and uglier than usual with her messy, stringy hair, rumpled t-shirt and jogging pants. She had clearly been asleep and forgot about looking presentable. Their eyes met and she shook her head at him. 

Jaime gave no thought to other people but something about the resignation in her eyes got to him. He wasn’t arrested for two weeks after that. Her shadowed blue eyes haunted him. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he checked out his wine collection then hopped behind the wheel. His erratic driving led to his next arrest.

He gave Brienne’s name again.

Like before, she came.

She always came.

She always came and would only look at him, never saying a word. After assessing that Jaime was alright, she indicated with an incline of her head that he follow and he did. More silence followed in her car, a sensible, boring sedan. She started the car only when his seatbelt was on. She drove without another word, nor even a glance at him. That was alright. Jaime didn’t want to think about her ugly face when he crashed on his bed following that, but those blue eyes starred in his dreams. 

Brienne Tarth was not Kingsguard’s first manager. The first was a sleazy, sweaty guy whose name Jaime had already forgotten. He got the band gigs but in places where people were too drunk to realize they were there. After two years of that hell, they parted ways. The next few months saw them performing sporadically but on their own, they managed to get regular gigs in better places. Places where people listened. Brienne went to those.

She was a shopgirl at a furniture store at the time, going to school off and on because money for tuition and books wasn’t regular and her failure to provide a permanent address in the city prevented her from getting a scholarship. She stood out for Jaime because she was often the tallest in the room at six-foot-three. Her hair was stringy pale blond, and the cheap makeup she used was quick to melt away and reveal her freckles. Her nose was big and crooked, broken the first time during a mugging attempt, broken the second when an abusive boyfriend hit her. She had a full, thick-lipped mouth. An ugly freak, that’s what she was. 

Yet, when Jaime would sing, he was electrified by the sight of her moving and swaying with the music. She stood near the front, ignoring the howls of disapproval because she was blocking them from their view of the band. The music and Jaime’s voice seemed all that comprised her world, and when she would open her eyes at the end of a song, they were revealed to be the clearest, most striking blue he had ever seen. 

“Great job,” she would tell them as they were packing up then she was off. Sometimes, it was, “That was phenomenal,” before disappearing again. She appeared in nearly all their gigs, wherever it was, and she seemed to always know the bartender, or the owner, or somebody of importance in those places. 

Four months after Kingsguard were on their own, Jaime broached the idea of hiring a new manager for the band. “Brienne Tarth,” he told them. 

“You mean the tall broad who seems to be always high around us?” Loras said doubtfully.

“I mean the one who’s always on first-name and hugging basis with managers and repeat customers of the places where we perform,” Jaime said, not liking how Loras described her. He actually thought Brienne moved quite gracefully. “I can’t be the only one who’s noticed? She knows people.”

“I heard she’s got a lot of contacts,” Sandor agreed. “Really into networking and stuff. Quite smart for a shopgirl.”

Jaime gave him a warning look. “Hey, this is the person I believe would be committed to the band. Maybe we can give her more credit?”

“Jaime,” Stannis said, “I’m not saying the girl is an idiot but you’ve seen how she looks like, right?”

“Fine. She is ugly. Nothing that a decent haircut and makeup won’t fix,” he said impatiently. “And you’re the one to talk. Have you seen your receding hairline?”

“I may be getting bald but I’m not ugly.”

“I have old, muddy shoes that look better than you.”

“Funny,” Stannis said sarcastically. “A Lannister with old shoes?”

“So she knows people,” Rhaegar brought the subject back to Brienne. “But we need someone who’s both a pit bull and a bloodhound, Jaime. I don’t know, but something about her tells me she’s. . .timid.”

“Let’s just see if she’s willing and if it will work out. Anyway, we can always fire here if she fucks up.”

Brienne Tarth was not timid. She had foulest mouth on earth, in Jaime’s opinion. Sandor was the champion of cursing but Brienne outmatched him and sometimes made him blush. She was a bloodhound, indeed, sniffing out bullshit as well as opportunities to elevate the band’s growing success. A pit bull she wasn’t but a jackal—careful and more dangerous. 

Under Brienne, Kingsguard not only got more and better gigs, they also landed their first major record deal. They hit gold, as well as in their choice of manager. As Jaime was famous for his outrageous antics onstage, so was Brienne’s reputation of telling greedy record executives to fuck themselves in the ass if they thought of screwing the band from their profits. One magazine put them on the cover together and titled it, “The Beauty and The Beast.” Jaime was smiling, golden and handsome, and was clearly captioned as the Beauty while Brienne wore her signature scowl and was labelled as the Beast. Neither had posed nor given an interview for the magazine.

Jaime and the rest of the Kingsguard thought the title was insulting though it praised him and Brienne for “taking the music back for musicians everywhere.” They issued a joint statement denouncing the magazine’s choice of how they portrayed Brienne in the cover and demanded an apology. They did but Brienne would later tell them that they shouldn’t have bothered. “I’m used to it,” she told them in a tone that conveyed further questions would never be entertained. 

When Jaime told Cersei about this, his sister smirked. “She’s right. You shouldn’t have bothered.”

Brienne arrived at the station two hours later. Jaime was annoyed because he really wanted to go home and rest in his bed. She had never taken this long before. It was Sam who once again brought him to Brienne, who had just finished filling up the paperwork. Jaime was ready with a smile, expecting her usual silence. 

This time, with hands on her hips, Brienne growled, “Until when, Jaime?”

She usually picked him up with her hair messy and one side of her face lined with sleep. Jaime enjoyed that, knowing he had dragged her out of bed. This time, she was wearing a little black dress that showed off her toned, muscular arms, her gym-honed body and unbelievably long legs. She was not curvy—the neckline of the dress showed no cleavage but his trained eye caught sight of her tight nipples—but Seven Hells, she looked fucking magnificent. 

Despite having more alcohol than blood in his system at the moment, Jaime felt his cock twitch.

“She speaks,” Jaime announced in a grand manner to the police officers. Smirking, he strode toward her. “I thought you’d gone mute, Tarth. How many times has it been—“

“Ten times. Ten fucking times I’ve come here to get you. Every time I thought it would be the last. That you’re going to pick yourself up and get fixed. Instead you just get worse and worse.” In her fury, Brienne’s cheeks were the colour of plums. She grabbed Jaime by the arm as soon as he was close enough and yanked him out toward the night. 

“Let go of me,” Jaime demanded, easily shaking her away. He glared up at her. He was tall but she was taller than him barefoot. In her high heels she loomed over him. 

“Seriously, Jaime, until when? What the fuck are you doing with your life?” Brienne continued as they stood in front of the police station. 

“You know, I liked you until you started speaking.”

“I’ve hated you since the day you quit.”

Startled at the venom in her delivery, Jaime could only watch as she turned away and stormed to her car. Any other day would have him amazed that she could walk steadily in those impossible heels and endless legs. He watched, stunned, as she got behind the wheel. Seeing that he was unmoving, she yelled, “Get your ass moving or I’m leaving you, Lannister!”

He was still drunk but he made it to the passenger seat just as she floored it. Jaime clipped on his seatbelt and glared at her.  
“What has gotten your panties in a twist that you look like you want to murder me?”

 _“I don’t know, Jaime!”_ She growled as she drove. “Maybe it’s because I’ve never been able to sleep well since you called me to pick you up from the station. Maybe it’s because I worry that the next call I’ll get is from a hospital or worse, a morgue. Maybe it’s because I seriously fucking don’t know what to do about you.”

“How sweet. You dream of me, yes?”

Brienne glared at him with fiery blues then turned her attention back to the road. “I swear to the Seven, Jaime, if not for recent developments, I’d drive us off a cliff because I can’t stand how you keep doing this to yourself.”

“Recent developments? You mean you in a dress?” Jaime glanced appreciatively at the smooth expanse of pale, freckled thigh exposed. “You look so fucking fetching.”

“Gods damn it,” Brienne swore.

“You know, I don’t know if anyone’s asked you this, but who the fuck do you kiss with that mouth?” Jaime drawled. “It’s _so_ fucking filthy.” 

“Jaime, do me a favor and just be quiet while I drive. And think.” 

She sounded like she was near tears so Jaime did as asked. 

She pulled up right across his building ten minutes later. Jaime would normally get out and never look back. This time, he remained in his seat and stared at Brienne. She was slumped in her seat and looking straight ahead.

“What happened?” He asked her gently.

“Do I. . .I mean, by not saying anything, by just picking you up after another arrest, am I encouraging you somehow?” Brienne looked at him, her expression helpless and frustrated. “What happens when you’re prosecuted, when you actually have to spend time behind bars? You might not care, Jaime. I shouldn’t anymore.” She shook her head and collapsed back in the seat. “That day you told me you were quitting meant you don’t care about anyone. Yet here I am. Another thankless night with you.”

She sounded both angry and despondent but still blunt. Damn, but she knew just how to cut him even when that wasn’t what she meant to do. Brienne Tarth was a hardass but she wasn’t cruel nor unkind. 

“For the record,” Jaime began, “I am grateful for what you do for me.”

“What exactly do I do? Because if this keeps up I’m an accomplice, Jaime. And I refuse to be part of whatever you’re doing to hurt yourself even more.”

“I’m not hurting myself,” he snapped.

“No? What you’re doing certainly breaks the heart.” She retorted. 

“What brought this on?” Jaime asked. “You’ve never spoken before. Tell me.”

Brienne looked at him, her lower lip trembling.

“I can’t have any more nights like this, Jaime. You’re beginning to scare me. I just. . .I can’t reach you. I can’t help you. You’re going to have to help yourself.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling.”

“No, not really.” Jaime said sarcastically and she glared at him.

“The reason that brought this all on.” She sat up slowly. “Okay. I guess it’s something inevitable. I’ve been as patient as I can for you. I haven’t seen even the slightest change in you, Jaime. No attempt at anything to stop yourself from getting drunk and making an ass out of yourself. And I realized that I really can’t be a part of something that will destroy the man I used to admire and worship. Gods, Jaime, I don’t think you know just how glorious you sound, how much of a gift it is and that it really breaks the heart how you’re throwing it away. Me picking you up, bailing you out, I can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry. But unless you make changes, I’m not going to be in your life.”

Jaime felt something in him die at her words.

Chewing her lip, Brienne continued, “There’s also the fact that I just got engaged.” She showed him her finger and a small, diamond ring gleamed from it. “I eventually said yes. You know why it took me hours? Because I kept looking at my phone, thinking that there will be another call from the station and I didn’t want to ruin it when Oberyn asks me by telling him, `Gotta go. Jaime Lannister needs me.’” At his disbelieving look, she blushed. “Jaime, it’s sick how it seems my life is revolving around you. That’s why I’m putting the brakes on.” She shook her head firmly. “No more nights like this. No more getting you from the station. No more getting my car professionally cleaned because I swear to the gods, Jaime, you fucking stink of alcohol and cigarettes. I have a good life ahead of me and it doesn’t involve you. This. . .you,” she gestured at him loosely. “You’re not the Jaime I know. So I’m going to cut myself off you while I can still remember how you used to be, how good you were until. . .” she shrugged. “Everything.”

She let out a sigh. It was obvious she had been controlling herself from saying these for a while. 

That dead feeling still nagged from deep inside him. Looking at her profile, Jaime found himself pleading, “Brienne, please.”

She shook her head.

“I can’t not have you in my life.”

He only meant to say them for the sake of doing so but he realized as soon as he spoke it was the truth.

Brienne looked like she was going to cry. “I don’t want you in mine.”


	3. A Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They bounced on the couch, lips fused and hands everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut that no one asked for.  
> But give it a chance!  
> Please?

Two weeks later

Since getting engaged, Oberyn Martell was spending more time at Brienne’s place. He had broached the subject of living together six months into their relationship. Now it was one year since he first brought it up and Brienne was nowhere near any decision regarding their inevitable cohabitation.

She liked—loved him. Oberyn owned Viper Communications, a public relations agency employed by the most famous and infamous to watch out for any negative press and to plug it before it saw print or posted in social media. Brienne knew Oberyn from when she was on the other side of the business—she always gave him a hard time for those instances he wasn’t able to stop news regarding Jaime Lannister’s idiotic stunts. Most people in the business would cower at Brienne’s fury but Oberyn would fight back. Their head-butting resulted, first, into tokens such as wines or flowers sent in apology, then the casual invitation to some event where they could circulate and make more contacts. Neither knew when exactly meeting for coffee or a meal turned into a date but their business relationship ended the night they fucked in the car parked in Brienne’s driveway.

For all her bluster and temper, Brienne was shy, almost demure when it came to sex. It took a while for her become comfortable. She had very few experiences because she was often suspicious of any special attention given to her—and she was right to do so. In high school, the football team had a bet as to who would pop her cherry. A sympathetic classmate alerted her about it. Brienne didn’t lose her virginity until she was twenty-four. She had never had romantic prospects but in the years as manager of Kingsguard, learned that she could easily get her next fuck. She still took care, however. She never fucked in her hotel, and it was always a guy who was just passing through. She preferred them a little drunk so they wouldn’t look too closely at her face.

The members of Kingsguard either saw her as sexless or she wasn’t their type—not that she ever angled for an affair with any of them—but they respected her. Outside of it, she was feared and dreaded. Oberyn Martell wasn’t the least bit intimidated. He looked her right in the eye, snapped back, and didn’t hesitate to put her in her place.

He was six feet tall, with lean muscles. His hair was thick, black waves trimmed close to the skull, his round, glinting eyes an exact midnight match. She thought his goatee was stupid at first but it grew on her. He liked to surf in the weekends, which explained his perpetual tan. He was more well-groomed than good-looking, clearly a man who took excellent care of himself and spent a good amount of money on it. 

Since the engagement, Brienne and Oberyn had been swamped with invitations to various events. She may no longer be manager of Kingsguard but her name still had power. Gone were the days when she babysat five grown men. Now she was a journalist for Rotation, the biggest music magazine. She interviewed singers and bands, did album reviews. Her articles got the most hits and every music artist, established or rising, was clamoring to be featured by Brienne.

They had just attended the launch of a new music sharing site that promised to democratize music distribution yet uphold the rights of the artists. Brienne and Oberyn hardly had time to enjoy the champagne because everyone wanted to congratulate them or know their take on the new platform. An hour and a half after the launch, Brienne was exhausted and pleaded that they go home.

As she pulled her keys from her purse, Oberyn, standing behind her, slid his arms around her waist in a poor pretense of a sweet embrace before his hands dove under her skirt. Her cheeks reddened, her scold breathless and unconvincing as she gripped the key while he mumbled against her shoulder and palmed her pussy. She had to bite back a laugh at the ridiculous image they made, she taller despite her flats, red in the face and struggling to remain upright while her fiancé kept his hand on her pussy as if it was going to be stolen from him. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door then they tumbled inside her house. Oberyn grunted against her shoulder, his fingers fucking her while he filled her ear with hot, desperate breathing.

Oberyn turned her around so he could claim her lips while he continued stroking and caressing her below the waist. Her dress was a high-necked, black leather number with a zipper from the neckline in front all the way down. The lights were still off but there was enough light from the moon to see. 

A sigh slid from her lips as he found the zipper and tugged it. Brienne smirked as she pushed the dress off while Oberyn switched on a lamp. She burst out laughing at the obvious surprise and joy at his face upon discovering she had been naked under her dress all along. He attacked his clothes.

They bounced on the couch, lips fused and hands everywhere. Brienne wailed as Oberyn slid his tongue round and round her nipple, clearly enjoying the added stimulation her piercing was giving her. His kisses were wet, hungry slurps on her breasts. They were small but felt heavy with her growing arousal. Oberyn tugged a swollen nub too roughly and she gasped, wordless at how sharp the pleasure was. 

As Oberyn licked and kissed down her flat stomach before pushing his tongue between the drenched folds of her pussy, she groaned and cried out, eyes squeezed shut. 

“No fair,” she gasped. “I want you too.”

“Yeah?” Oberyn grinned. “You do?”

“Don’t make me beg,” she hissed, before she using her superior body weight to flip him. Oberyn gasped as she climbed over him, turning so she was staring down at his cock. 

He spread her thighs wide open as they rested on his shoulders, baring the dripping, pink bounty of her pussy. Brienne whined as she felt his tongue slither into her cunt, his fingers pulling at the skin of her inner thigh to open her wider. Then it was Oberyn’s turn to grunt as she pumped his cock in her hands and wrapped her lips around the purpled tip. Up and down she rubbed him with her fingers, and she alternated between hungry, wet licks and open-mouthed kisses on his cock and balls. Her moan caused his cock to harden some more when fucked her with his tongue and fingers together. 

Brienne’s body was tight, knowing that relief was so close but Oberyn just enjoyed torturing her too much. She resolved to make him come first by sucking on his cockhead with all the suction force she could do when she felt a finger entering her rosette.  
Gods, he was such a jerk. He knew she loved it back there. Sometimes, too much.

Her lips slack as her body was seized by the dark pleasure of his fingers there, she continued rubbing his cock, though not as vigorously as before. The feeling of his fingers burned but fuck, it was heaven. Then he was spreading her cunt lips open with his tongue. _Too much._ She couldn’t. 

She came with a shout, furiously fucking Oberyn in the face while her hand picked up the pace. She tried to suck him but her body was rocking so wildly, helpless against the white-hot pleasure surrounding her. Oberyn tasted her just as her pussy rippled from orgasm, hitting his tongue with her sweet cum. Brienne refused to do it alone so with a few more determined strokes and turns, Oberyn’s cock erupted with a thick stream of semen. He growled. 

She managed a smirk before her lips clamped around his cockhead and sucked. 

 

“Dorne in the spring,” Oberyn said later. He was sitting up in her king-sized bed. Perched on his slender nose was a pair of hipster glasses while he scrolled at his tablet. He was shirtless and looked tasty with his rich, golden tan. It was a shame he was wearing jogging pants. 

Brienne, fresh from a shower, was patting her hair dry with a towel. Her pale, freckled skin was covered in droplets and nothing else. 

“What about Dorne in the spring?” She asked, giving an innocent pop of her hip when Oberyn glanced at her and smiled in approval at her naked state. 

“Our wedding.” 

Brienne left her towel at the foot of the bed and went to the dresser for clothes. As she pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of boy shorts, she heard Oberyn moving in the bed. 

“Dorne is the hottest place on earth but it’s really beautiful in the spring. The beaches, the colours. . .” Dressed now, Brienne turned to find Oberyn lying on his back at the foot of the bed, eyes on the tablet while speaking. He had pushed her towel aside. “Or we can do a winter wedding in Winterfell.”

“Must we make a ceremony out of it?” Brienne asked as she climbed to her side of the bed. Eyes still on the screen, Oberyn absently stroked the leg she stretched toward him. “I was thinking more of city hall, with just immediate family and a few close friends.” Oberyn still had family but Brienne was an orphan. As for friends. . .she will deal with it when she had to.

“I know you’re not into looking like a cupcake on the big day and a big reception,” Oberyn told her, putting the tablet away and pulling her leg so it rested on his chest. “But my family is traditional. Don’t make me look bad,” he chided her playfully. “Rich successful PR guy scrimping on his wedding?”

Brienne grinned. “I dare you to try stopping that from getting out.”

He sat up and Brienne trailed her foot suggestively down his navel. He trapped her foot in his hands just before her big toe could push at the waistband of his pants. 

“That the kind of wedding you want? City hall?” 

“Oberyn, what matters to me is the man. I don’t give a fuck about lemon cakes and fondant shit and all that. You’re what I want.” She said. “But if your family insists on a sept ceremony. . .”

It made her skin crawl, standing before crowd while they proclaimed they were each other’s. Brienne was not comfortable with attention like that. She knew how cruel people could be. But she had Oberyn and his family to think about. 

Oberyn grinned and played with her toes. “I like city hall too but a sept ceremony, you in a dress. Knowing what’s under all those proper layers.” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Do we have to decide now? We’ve just gotten engaged.”

Brienne adjusted her position as Oberyn settled between her legs. Resting his chin on her tummy, he said, “No, we don’t have to decide right away. But I want to be with you, Brienne.” He took her hand and kissed the ring there. “We’ve been circling around each other for years. We’ve wasted so much time.”

“Not to me,” she told him gently. “We had to grow up a bit. You were a gigantic fucktard when we first met.”

Oberyn chuckled and kissed her navel. “I must have improved to have won the hand of the mighty Brienne.”

She played with his curls. “These days, you’re just a fuck.”

“I’ll take it.” He rose a bit and pulled at her shorts. “And this.”

As Brienne raised her hips to help him shimmy her bottoms down, her phone on the nightstand started to vibrate. She glanced at it as Oberyn settled spread her legs then settled between them. 

A name. Jaime. On and on and the screen flashed. _Jaime. Jaime. Jaime._

No. She wouldn’t, no more. 

Oberyn, poised to slay her again, asked, “Someone important?”

Brienne hit IGNORE and the phone went quiet.. She relaxed against the pillows with a sigh. She urged Oberyn to lower his head to her cunt, ignoring the heaviness in her heart, the voice in her head screaming at her. His tongue pressed on her clit.

“Not anymore.”


	4. Letters from the Quiet Isle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re a lot of things, Brienne, but I don’t know where to begin.

September 9

_Dear Brienne,_

_You might be surprised to get a letter like this, and from me. It’s one month since I last tried contacting you. Contrary to what you might think, I was calling not to be bailed out of trouble again but to tell you that I was leaving.  
You said things the last time we were together that really hit home. They were things people have been telling me, Tyrion, especially, but it’s you that reached something inside me that made me think. You were there from the early days of Kingsguard, so you’re one of the few people who know me best. The number who believe me in like you do—well, that’s only you.   
After you dropped me off, I couldn’t stop thinking. I was angry and disappointed that you wouldn’t help me anymore. We were friends. We are friends. I was wallowing in it so that I didn’t realize how much I have been hurting you. I guess I’m a hero of sorts in your eyes? If I am, I wish you’d look elsewhere. I’m no one to be looked up to, least of all admired. I’m a lot more deplorable than you think, and it isn’t because of the drugs and alcohol. I don’t deserve someone like you.  
The Quiet Isle Retreat, in case you think of replying to my letter, isn’t one of those centers that tackle the problems of addiction aggressively. It’s a forgiving place. I can come and go as I please. We’re assigned little tasks first—mine is cooking and cleaning up the kitchen—before we progress to bigger ones then start getting rewards. Rewards are Westernet access for an hour, or a day of doing whatever we want. Things like that. So I’m writing you a letter the old-fashioned way because all I have now, aside from dishpan hands and the bare necessities, is pen and paper. That’s it.   
I’ll end here. I just thought to write in case you wonder where I’ve gone off to. I know you’re all about tough love but you have a marshmallow heart for Jaime. This is proof that I didn’t die choking on my vomit because I passed out drunk. A month may be too soon to say anything but I’m not as fucked up anymore. _

_Yours, Jaime._  
____

_September 30_

_Dear Brienne,_

_Still angry with me? I don’t blame you.  
Writing you this letter isn’t going to help me at all with you but. . .I’m still doing it. There’s something about writing letters that’s therapeutic. Is it the soft whisper of pen across paper? Is it because I imagine you just across from me as I write this, your ridiculous eyes looking very blue. You do have ridiculous eyes. That’s what prompted me to write this. The sea over here shines like sapphires at a certain hour in the day and I was reminded of you.   
That last time you got me, I remember you told me you’re engaged? To some guy? Oliver? Something like that? How’s that?   
Brienne, I said in my previous letter that I wished you’d admire someone else because all your efforts would be wasted on me. I take it back. I can handle my father not thinking so much of me, Tyrion thinks everyone is an idiot. But you—I can’t deal with you thinking so little of me. So I hope, as always, you didn’t do as I asked.  
While I was cleaning the kitchen, I heard an old Kingsguard song on the radio. `Battle at Trident.’ Do you remember the night it was written? Rhaegar and I just fiddling with our guitars. You were on the couch sleeping. It’s the fastest song we’ve ever done. I miss working with Rhaegar. I miss how you looked when we played that song to you. You looked like you were ready to kill us because we woke you up but when I started singing you smiled. You sat up, hugged your knees. You watched me sing with those eyes.   
I miss the old days.  
I miss you._

_Yours, Jaime._  
____

_October 22_

_Dear Brienne,  
Today was my last with kitchen duties. I’ve advanced to cleaning the bedrooms at the second floor and from there, who knows? I might end up as Lord of the Quiet Isle.   
I know you’re getting my letters but are you still that angry with me? I am sorry, Brienne. Last week, the topic of the session was taking accountability for our actions. I blame no one for why I turned to substances. But hurting you—unfortunately, that’s all me.   
We have group sessions and also individual sessions. The latter is optional but I really want to get to the heart of my problems. The shrink says I’m resistant but who won’t be? I’m an asshole but I do not relish sitting on a couch for an hour telling some stranger things about myself. I’d rather it be you.   
How are things? Are you still engaged?  
You’re not answering me either because you still want to drown me OR you’re fucking all over. By the Seven, Brienne, behave yourself.  
Yours, Jaime_

_____________  
To: briennetarth@wmail.com  
From: kingslayer_jaime@wmail.com  
Date: November 1  
Subject: Hello  
Hey,  
So I’m emailing now.   
The shrink says that your name comes up quite a lot in our sessions. Yours and Cersei’s. I said it’s because you were my manager and I’d like to think, one of the few true friends I have. He asked me to describe what our relationship is like and for the love of the Seven, I can’t find the words.  
With Cersei, it was easy. She’s my sister. My twin. It has always been complicated. You know how she is.   
You’re a lot of things, Brienne, but I don’t know where to begin.  
You give me hell. I hated you that one time you imposed a curfew on me during a tour because I was staying out all night and unable to perform during rehearsals. I hated you when you camped at the door to block my way and you totally deserved it when I tripped on you. I regret hurting you when I fell, though. I’m sorry you landed in the hospital and even more sorry you broke a rib.   
You seem to know me better than I know myself. Better than anyone does, really. When Sandor and I nearly came to blows during one of our last rehearsals, you literally put yourself between us before dragging me out for fresh air. I wasn’t going to hit him. I only wanted him to think that. But you don’t want anyone bloodying my very pretty face.  
You’ve seen me at my worst. Instead of staying at my side, you left me.  
I can understand that.  
You showed me what I had to do by leaving.  
Please write back.  
Yours, Jaime

Brienne re-read Jaime’s email before she closed her laptop. 

Oberyn was in the shower. She glanced at the door of her bedroom before she pulled at the drawer under her desk. Nestled along with tickets from Kingsguards’ first major concert, were his three letters. 

She opened them and read them again, one by one. In all was the voice of a man who was determined to make changes in his life. That was good. Brienne had gotten fed up with Jaime’s behavior but she never stopped believing that he would do the right thing. He was on the road to that. But he still had a ways to go.

His letters were unanswered because she didn’t know what to say to him. Jaime said they were friends but for her, they were business associates, partners with mutual respect, rather than friends. They hung out and ribbed at each other but they had none of the intimacies of friendship. She looked after Kingsguard and helped them out because it was expected of her. She was the manager.

Members of the Kingsguard had drifted away to do their own thing after disbanding. Brienne ran into them every once in a while and they would reminisce about the old days. But that was all. 

Still, for Jaime to write to her. Three handwritten letters, no less. 

Her cheeks warmed as her mind veered towards a thought she refused to acknowledge, would never acknowledge. It was bad enough that Cersei somehow picked up on it and nearly caused the band to end early on. But it was more difficult now even with her gone. Whatever feelings Brienne may have had towards Jaime, she could say they were gone now. Passing whimsy of a much younger heart back in the day. She had a relationship with Oberyn Martell. A romantic, adult relationship, she thought to herself, looking down at her ring.

Brienne and Oberyn now lived together. He had the bigger place but her house was closer to their work so for practical purposes, they settled here. She had never lived with anyone before so they were still at that awkward phase of adjusting to each other—more so with Oberyn. He was in the process of selling his apartment and most of his stuff were in storage. Brienne did her best to make him feel comfortable—at home—but there were things, many things, that just couldn’t be done right. Naively, she had only cleared space in the walk-in closet for him and a shelf in the bathroom. She hadn’t realized that she was going to have to make room for another life. 

The first two weeks, whatever awkwardness or wrong that happened in the early days of living together, had them resolving things by fucking on any flat surface. They soon realized that not everything could be resolved by a tit show or a kiss, and they may be facing bigger problems than they realized.

For one, Oberyn kept nagging her to set the date. She used to reason that they just got engaged but three months had passed since the night. For her, there was no need to rush. They weren’t planning on a long engagement but did Oberyn think that once engaged, wedding bells followed soon after? They couldn’t even pick up their laundry on time. 

Another thing she should not complain about was. . .well, the fucking. They were fucking nearly all the time. Brienne worried that Oberyn might be a sex addict because he wanted it all the time. Really, really did. She was fine with one weekend of fucking but when it got in the way of sleep, when she a cock was jammed in her cunt before she could even stretch first thing in the morning, it was too much. Sometimes she arranged to be out during the weekend, picking an assignment that put her in another time zone, if possible. 

Oberyn had offered her a job in his firm. He clearly wanted her to take it and she was an idiot not to. The pay was generous, the opportunity immense, not to mention that she got to work with her fiancé. Most women would flip at a chance like this but not Brienne. She already lived with him. He was in her often. They were getting married. 

Perhaps the worst thing she did was hiding Jaime from Oberyn. Oberyn knew Jaime—they worked together before, the three of them. Oberyn had zero sympathy for Jaime and wouldn’t tolerate anything from him unless it involved money in the six figures. But Brienne and Jaime knew each other longer and out of a sense of old loyalty, she felt protective of him. She hated having to hide Jaime’s correspondence from Oberyn. For Oberyn, she ceased all things Kingsguard the day they disbanded. What he would never understand was the band was her life for twelve years. It was easy to let Sandor, Loras, Stannis and Rhaegar drift away but not Jaime. 

And she was proud of him for getting himself to the Quiet Isle to deal with his demons. 

Brienne tucked his letters back in the drawer and opened her laptop. Flexed her fingers she did then began to type.

Dear Jaime,  
I have been getting your letters. I’m sorry for not answering but I’ve been . . .

Brienne frowned.

“Busy,” she said aloud and typed it. Yeah. The generic safe answer. She couldn’t write, “I’ve been unable to answer because my fiancé won’t let me out of bed and even if I was, his dick would always find itself in me.”

Dear Jaime,  
I have been getting your letters. I’m sorry for not answering but I’ve been busy. I’m a music journalist now, isn’t that a riot? So I’m often traveling to cover concerts and shows, do interviews.   
I’m glad you’re doing well. I always knew you’d shape up. I am sorry, though, that I did it the way I did. I hated myself for not answering your last call, especially now that I know your real reason behind it. I promise to you that the next time you call, I will answer. I haven’t been a very good friend, I’m afraid. I hope you’ll give me a chance.  
Come back soon. 

Love, Brienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I purposefully left off the year from the letters.


	5. The Lady Is A Wench

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their letters were long exchanges, the feeling almost similar to the nights when they stayed up way past everyone else. After a show, Brienne and the band would gather in some neighborhood bar where no one bothered him, or in her hotel suite, congratulating each other for another fantastic performance. Bit by bit, the group dwindled until it was only her and Jaime.

One year later

 

As a peace offering, Brienne went to Frey Pies & Co., for their dark chocolate cream pie, Oberyn’s favorite. She tapped her fingers on the counter as it was wrapped up, her stomach a tangle of frayed knots. 

They had been arguing a lot for months now. The littlest thing blossomed to screaming matches and slammed doors, or Oberyn spending the night on the couch. Mornings were sullen affairs as they sat on opposite ends of the table and ignored each other. The nights were just as bad because the bed, once crowded, was the vastest, loneliest space suddenly. Brienne tossed and turned wondering how she could fix them, if they were still fixable.

It was hard to pinpoint when it began but warring over floss left at the sink, the toilet seat left up, were arguments over what they should be screaming at each other about. When they got engaged, Brienne envisioned them in a perpetual haze of love and romance. They had that, even during the early days of Oberyn’s move. Romance was never their problem but commitment, particularly hers, was becoming questionable, according to him when they fought this morning.

That set her off and sent them to a screaming rampage. Past the point of hurt was an anger that had Brienne really tempted to physically hurt Oberyn because how dare he imply she was cheating. She had never, and was never tempted. It was unfair and just plain wrong and she yelled that if he couldn’t trust her, she was _never_ going to marry him. 

All day her mood switched from anger to regretful then back. Before things got really complicated, all she had to do was ask Oberyn to stop nagging her. Couldn’t they enjoy being engaged first? Because she did. And he did as asked but only for as long. She counted the days the subject was never brought up—twelve days. Twelve, _wonderful_ days of freedom from his morning utterances of getting married in Riverrun as he fucked her. And because the world liked to crap on good things, people got married left and right soon after. 

They were invited to five weddings, five weddings that they couldn’t skip—or rather, Brienne couldn’t. While dancing at the wedding of his brother Doran, Oberyn whispered that they could have a Dornish-themed wedding, or a mix of traditions from the Stormlands, where she was from, and his culture. She was thankful when the bride suddenly called for the bouquet toss. For about a minute, before she found her hands around a bunch of roses, caught due to her height advantage and long limbs. She had to give Oberyn a blow job in the car to shut him up about weddings.

The next was the wedding of Sandor Clegane to Sansa Stark, her best friend. Brienne was a bridesmaid and Oberyn filled her ears with whispers of how when it was her turn to be the bride she would walk on a carpet of flowers, instead of a mere path like Sansa did. Brienne basically stood by the champagne fountain the entire night and was unusually sociable, forcing Oberyn to circulate on his own. Oberyn didn’t mention one word regarding weddings for three whole days—the time she had to recover from the hangover.

The next weddings were business associates of Oberyn’s. Being mere guests had Oberyn comparing the decorations to their projected wedding more bluntly and he just wouldn’t let up. After the fifth wedding, Brienne reached her breaking point and told Oberyn that if he wasn’t going to let her think about the wedding on her own, there was never going to be a wedding for them. He told her she was shit and wasn’t taking their relationship seriously at all. 

She took it back. She knew how the discord in their relationship began. That day. When she said her piece and Oberyn accused her of not taking their relationship seriously. It was hurtful because the exact opposite was true. He couldn’t fathom that she couldn’t think when barraged and nagged left and right about getting hitched. And with Oberyn now living with her, there was hardly any room to breathe.

Brienne threw herself to work for the whole day. She turned in two articles in advance, saw someone who tried to convince her to venture into producing music, and then producers for a new reality show looking to form the next big rock band. They wanted her as one of the mentors. 

Oberyn’s low-slung Black Viper was already parked when she swung the car towards their house. She parked behind him, leaving enough space for when he left early in the morning. She took the gleaming silver paper bag of Frey Pies & Co. and walked up to the front door. 

“I’m home,” she called out, closing the door behind her and walking inside. The silver bag was placed on the kitchen counter before her feet brought her to the bedroom. A blond eyebrow cocked at the sight of an open suitcase at the foot of the bed. The door from the closet swung open and Oberyn, a few clothes in his arms, gave her a startled look.

They stared at each other, Brienne’s questioning and him stoic. Then he looked away and brushed past her shoulder as he put his clothes in the bag. Wordlessly, her eyes followed him as he took a few underwear from the dresser.

“I know things have not been good for a while but this isn’t the answer, Oberyn,” she managed to say. 

“Relax. I’ll be away for a couple of days, that’s all,” he muttered, dumping his underwear in the bag. He still wouldn’t look at her.

“Where are you going?” Brienne asked a moment later when he offered no further information. Instead, he was looking at his phone. She hated that her voice sounded as small as a child’s.

“Taena Merryweather was busted for possession of sweetsleep and lys at the airport. Her agent and I will be doing damage control for a few days.” He answered, sounding like his teeth were being pulled one by one. 

“Oh.” Taena was a young actress, extraordinarily beautiful but a mess. Oberyn zipped up his bag.

“There’s dark chocolate pie from Frey’s,” Brienne said as another yawning silence fell between them. Oberyn tossed his phone on the bed and stomped to their closet, wrenching off his suit with sharp, jerking motions. Her mouth usually went dry at the sight of his glorious, tanned skin and muscles but her throat was tight from a fear she couldn’t voice out. “I—I am sorry for this morning, Oberyn. I really am.”

“We should use the time apart to think,” was his answer, putting on a crisp, black shirt. Then he put on the suit jacket he had discarded and strolled out of the closet. His dark eyes rested briefly on her before he took his suitcase and walked out of the room.

“I don’t need to think.” Brienne blurted out as she went after him. Being taller and with longer legs, she easily overtook him and planted her body right between him and the door. “Oberyn, I love you. Please don’t doubt that.”

His eyes were cold as they stared back at her. She flinched as if struck.

“Then tell me you’ll marry me.”

“I am.”

“When.” His voice was gruff. He was still angry. “Tell me when.”

“I can’t—“ she started to say and he rolled his eyes, going around her to head for the door. Helplessly, she watched as he reached the door. “Oberyn, it’s not like that. We have to decide on that together.”

“I think I’ve made it clear that where or when or how doesn’t matter, just as long as I marry you,” he said, putting the suitcase down and turning to her. “You’re the one dragging her feet.”

“I’ll marry you now if you want,” she declared.

Oberyn shook his head. “Is that what _you_ want?”

When she didn’t answer right away, he sighed and picked up the bag. “I thought so.”

“Oberyn—“

“I’ll see you when I return, Brienne. The service is here.”

Then he was gone.

Brienne hugged herself, shaking violently as the silence of the house assaulted her. No tears came but there was a choking sensation spreading in her throat, her eyes dry and sandy. Goosebumps rose as her skin dampened. Closing her eyes, her arms dropped to the sides. She plunked hard on the sofa and put her head between her legs.

Her erratic breathing eventually slowed. She raised her head and slid on her butt toward the floor. I love you but I need more time, she should have told Oberyn, except she knew he wasn’t going to give it to her. She was a fool for wanting more time to be not Mrs. Oberyn Martell. He loved her and desired her, and he was hurt from her apparent rejection and lack of commitment. The truth was she herself didn’t know why the idea of finally marrying him left her cold and scared. Her feelings for him were true but something in her, from somewhere, told her to wait. For what, she didn’t know.

In times like this, she would go to her desk and get Jaime’s handwritten letters there. They emailed for about a month before she asked if he would mind writing her the old fashioned way. His handwriting gave her headaches and the things he wrote both annoyed and amused her. They exchanged letters, and it was on the paper she wrote on that she herself to be at her most honest. 

She chided him for not remembering Oberyn (“He’s the guy that stopped that paparazzi from selling the photo of you throwing up in front of Spider Club”), told him she was proud of him and believed in him. Their letters were long exchanges, the feeling almost similar to the nights when they stayed up way past everyone else. After a show, Brienne and the band would gather in some neighborhood bar where no one bothered him, or in her hotel suite, congratulating each other for another fantastic performance. Bit by bit, the group dwindled until it was only her and Jaime. 

He was a friend, but she only realized it recently. It made her a total dunce, really. They didn’t share the deepest, darkest secrets of themselves but talking was always easy. At least, until Cersei would call Jaime on his cell and demand that he come to her, or when she went on tour with them, rap on Brienne’s door and tell Jaime he had to leave. She always knew when to time her arrival—just when either Jaime or Brienne was on the verge of sharing something important, put into words after a long time. Jaime clearly didn’t want to go but he would kiss Brienne on the cheek in apology and do as his sister demanded. 

Brienne couldn’t figure out their relationship and when she asked the guys, all they said that the twins were always close. Their mother died and Cersei had grown totally dependent on Jaime. They thought she was a drag and had told Jaime to man up about her but it was pointless. He was devoted to his sister. Brienne didn’t think to ask Jaime himself. The dagger looks Cersei gave her was more than enough warning. 

When Jaime left, Brienne would leave the room too. Her destination would be a bar that was far enough that she won’t be tempted to bring the guy back to her room yet wasn’t that big of a hassle to drive back to. There was an emptiness that hit her  
hard when Jaime left and it left her restless. A stranger’s cock made her forget, the soreness in her cunt the drug that put her to sleep upon her return.

Brienne took the box of letters and brought them to the kitchen with her. She hated food to go to waste so she helped herself to a piece of the pie and popped open a bottle of her favourite brandy. Then she took the food, the bottle and the box to the couch. 

She could imagine Jaime looking exasperated when he wrote, his green eyes twinkling with amusement as he fired off word after word. People would say they were having a romance but it wasn’t. It was friendship. Brienne was glad that Jaime was making the time to work out whatever issues had been plaguing him and while it was her hope that he would sing again and command the stage, she never told him. Jaime did mention he missed the creative process behind a song, the writing and the composing, the collaboration. He asked her once if she was in touch with former members of the Kingsguard and she mentioned Sandor’s wedding. But she added she didn’t see much of them anymore. She kept tabs, though.

They had all gone into music producing and had individual collaborations with other artists, groups. Brienne asked Rhaegar why they didn’t continue with the band with another singer and he told her that though Jaime was a gigantic asshole, it felt wrong and disloyal to work with each other without him. Jaime was the one to put the band together so the guys would always be thankful to him.

Jaime’s last letter was from a month ago. They wrote a lot but not regularly. Sometimes months would pass before another letter came along. She read this lying on the couch. It was her favourite because he sounded like the old Jaime again, snarky dashed with self-assured arrogance, amused and mocking.

Done, she put it in the box, where she also kept print-outs of his emails. The heaviness and tension in her body had eased but she could still be a little more relaxed. She put away her plate and the wine and went to the bedroom. 

Her favourite thing in her house was not the bedroom but the hot tub. This was her indulgence, soaking in the warm bubbles and the jets underneath pounding and hitting her muscles. It was best accessed through her bedroom, to ensure privacy but one could also walk around the property to get there. With the high walls surrounding the house, Brienne didn’t worry about being watched—not that there was much to see. The cluster of lemon trees in the garden surrounding the house provided more cover.  
She filled it with water then went to change into an old, faded blue bikini. The halter style lifted her tiny tits toward each other so in a certain light, she had what looked to be cleavage. Her broad shoulders didn’t look as mannish although teeny bits of fabric bared her muscular physique. The bottom was the low, hip-skimming style. Her bush was full and thick as she hadn’t gone to the waxer for two months. She tucked the hairs into the panel of the bikini then realized it was ridiculous. She was home alone and it was her hot tub. On her way out, she grabbed a towel then put her phone in a dock. She swiped the screen until she found her Kingsguard playlist then put it on random play. She turned the volume up and left the door from her room to the bath open to hear the music.

She turned on the tub and fixed the settings. It was a cool night out but she was content to wait for a few minutes before dipping a toe into the bubbly water then the rest of her. “Gods, “ she groaned as wonderful, hot water embraced her. She dunked her head momentarily in the water then popped out with a laugh. Her body slid across the tub to lean against the edge. With a contented sigh, she closed her eyes. 

Seven Heavens on earth. A hot tub of her own, listening to music from her favourite band. In her house with mortgage paid for. The two glasses of wine she’d had made her body delightfully slugging. A stream of shaky groans stuttered out of her lips as the jets and sprays pounded on her spine, the back of her shoulders, all the way down. In her relaxed state, her legs fell wide open.  
A column of water rushed right towards her. Right between her legs.

Her eyes flew open. “Oh, Seven. _Fuck._ ”

Flames licked her cheeks as she began to move away then thought, why not? 

Fighting with Oberyn meant they were cool in bed or slept apart. Brienne estimated that at least a month had passed since they last fucked. Out of loyalty to him and embarrassment, she had thrown out her favourite battery-operated devices. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the bubbling water around her, the pressure of the jets underneath tempting like a caress. Self-consciously, she glanced around.

She spread her legs and grunted as the water hit her right _there._

_“Gods.”_

Spreading her arms on the edge of the tub, she submitted to the force of the water. Her long legs floated up as what felt like a thousand, heavy tongues teased her inner thighs and her aching center. The sensation seemed to rise and wrap around her waist, making her giggle as it tickled her. The sound of her mirth came to a sudden stop when she felt a hard jet of water brush against her tits. It didn’t take long for her nipples to tighten painfully. Eyes screwed shut, she attacked the ties of her top then threw it away unseen. Her spine arched at the delicious sensations overwhelming every inch of her body, _all_ the orifices. Wow, that felt _insanely_ good back there. 

“Oh, gods.”

Hissing, she reached under water and yanked at her bottoms. As the licking sensation continued, her finger joined in the effort. A rough mewl was torn from her lips when she felt how hard and fat her clitoris was. Gods, how was that even possible? She couldn’t remember her clit being this hard ever, her cunt aching and swelling so much and Oberyn was a fantastic lover. She pressed her finger on her clit, rotated it. Her eyes flew open as she cried out, shakes seizing her body.

She collapsed against the edge of the tub, fucking herself furiously. Her other hand cupped her tit and began to squeeze and pinch a tight nipple. As she groaned and hissed, the I-Pod shuffled to Kingsguard’s most popular song, The Lady Is A Wench. It was a fast, drum-heavy song with insane guitar riffs. Jaime’s voice was a sexy growl as he sang about stiff-collared librarians that were hot as sin underneath. Through the haze of her lust, she heard him singing about blond wenches with angel eyes. Her mind latched to those words, _“Blond wenches, angel eyes, blond wenches, angel eyes. . .”_

Her breathing sped up as if she were running. She was flushed and pink all over as she chased the orgasm the water jets cruelly dangled before like an elusive treat. The sensual rubbing and pinching of her fingers harshened and she shrieked, feeling herself suddenly flung and flying. On and on she continued touching herself, hips moving against the insane water jets. At the very peak of her release, her eyes flew open and she saw orbs of gold and green. Blondes and angel eyes. 

“Angel eyes,” she whispered before slumping back in the tub, her eyes closing again. Her arms and legs fell limp on their sides and she would have gone under if she didn’t reach for the edge the tub. Sighing and humming, her body felt soft and very buoyant in the aftermath of her orgasm. A sleep, satisfied smile spread across her lips and she looked up at the night sky. Black and splashed with stars. What a perfect end to a perfect bath.

Her eyes started to drift close again when the unmistakable, rough sound of a _human_ clearing his throat hit her. Horrified that someone had seen, she opened her eyes and shot to her feet, ready to attack the intruder. Gold and green spots continued to dance before her and she had to shake her head to clear her vision and see—

_“What the hell are you doing in my yard, Jaime Lannister?”_

Eyes the colour of wildfyre made a slow caress from the top of her pink forehead all the way to the wet and dripping dark blond muff between her thighs. The dimples surrounding the most arrogant smirk in the planet deepened.

"Fuck, Brienne, but that body is a sight for sore eyes."

Realizing she was fucking butt-naked, Brienne fell back on the tub and hit her head. 

For once the gods were kind enough to knock her out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think will happen next?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to upload this new series for a while and now that I'm getting some J/B ficlets out of the way, I can concentrate some more on this. Will try to update twice a week. I hope you enjoy this. :-)


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